Parallel
by Your Faithful Servant
Summary: For some quick money, Slade takes up a job to be the handler of the newest Talon. He doesn't exactly like what he sees. Dick Grayson deserved better. [Rated T for language]


"You know, you follow orders much easier now."

"I still don't know who you are." It was so strange hearing that once angry and passionate voice so void of anything, so empty. He still didn't like that. Not at all. But it wasn't the kid's (not that he was much of a kid anymore) fault. So without something to take it out on, he shoved it down.

"I know," was his simple reply. His self-control admittedly wasn't fantastic, but the other obviously had no idea what was going on or who anyone was, and had the absolute shit brainwashed out of him. He would do anything that was asked without question, with something much darker and more controlling than blind trust. He wasn't even the same person, almost. Just an emotionless clone.

He wouldn't have taken the job if he knew what it entailed, but one thing he didn't feel like doing in this moment was taking on the entire Court of Owls. Nope. Too much work. Too much effort. Plus, he'd most likely have to end up hiding out, and that was always so uncomfortable. So refusing now was not an option.

So apparently that fucking meddling family of his was trying to get him to remember, and apparently had been successful on one occasion. He was here to simply prevent that, and also help the newest Talon take them all out. He really didn't need an excuse to kick all of their asses. He hated them all for how they ruined his _perfect_ plan. But even so, this was not the way he wanted to do this. Richard was not supposed to be on his side in this. In all of his expectations for how this would happen, that had never been a possibility.

If he felt like challenging the Court, maybe he would kill whoever had done this. It was one thing to use psychological tactics, it completely another to just erase someone's memories and personality and shape them like clay into what was wanted. A loyal toy soldier out of a playful acrobat. But it didn't even look natural. The kid moved like a robot, the smooth grace usually present in every movement replaced by jerky, choppy actions. He didn't seem like he ever was comfortable at all, and like an actor who forgot his lines, he sometimes paused in the middle of speaking or froze while doing something.

Deep down, Slade was sure that he knew this wasn't right, that something was very wrong.

That clashed with his conditioning, creating a dissonance, and rebellion in moments that the control that the Court held over him wavered. But most of the time… It just confused him. All the time, he was confused… and the worst part? Slade could deal with it fine if it was angry confusion. He'd already had experience with that with Richard anyway, and it was very like him to be that way. It would almost be comforting, because some part of him was still there.

But no. The confusion was _childlike_ . So innocent and trusting. It was not fun to watch or lie to. He knew something was wrong. But he had no idea that it was something that important, or what to do about it. All he was allowed to do with the conditioning (and Slade knew this for a fact, he'd been told the limits) was ask questions. And those were easy to avoid, lie about, or honestly if you told him to stop asking questions, he would. If worst came to worst… Resetting him was the last resort.

Being briefed about this, it took everything to keep the rage from his features.

Slade wasn't the best person. He killed people for money, and sometimes just because he felt like it. He often lost his temper and beat whoever was closest senseless. His morals were ambiguous at best. But there were lines that even he wouldn't cross.

Richard Grayson was an amazing martial artist, fiercely loyal, and a leader through and through. He did have some anger issues, but was also extremely passionate in everything he did or cared about from what Slade had seen. He had his flaws, especially when it came to things with criminal acts (the kid was just too damn _nice_ ) but there were ways to _persuade_ him. They didn't need to just completely empty everything that made Richard Grayson himself and just fill him up with what they wanted. He… He was too skilled for that. Too good.

That was a fate someone much lesser should receive.

Slade respected him for those years they'd fought and how much he had grown and become his own person, though he didn't act like it. Just because he didn't get along with or even liked him didn't necessarily mean that he thought of him as lower or less than himself. Though he wouldn't hesitate to beat the male into next week given the chance, it was almost pride that rose in his chest to see how strong he'd become. To see this happen was just… disgusting.

Even Slade would have given him better than that.

Now that was sad. After all, Slade had never been known for his mercy, or kindness, or anything along those lines. But then again, Richard didn't even remember that anymore. He looked at Slade so blankly, and even when he'd first met the kid, he'd never looked at him like that, or anyone really from what he'd seen. But this was also a much different situation… to say they had a past was an understatement. The few times Slade had seen him after his defeat in Jump City, his gaze was always one of intense hate. He'd become so accustomed to that expression that now anything else (but especially _this_ ) seemed out of place on those dark features.

An almost bored voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"Do you think they will come?" Richard's pale blue eyes stared out unblinkingly into Gotham, waiting. In a way, nearly, but not quite, hesitating. His fingers clenched onto the mask by his side, but his expression remained void of emotion.

It was eerily quiet. After all, there is always a calm before the storm.

"Yes," Slade answered mysteriously. "They will always come."

"Why?"

"Because they are different from us. And because they are the same."

The wind wailed across the rooftops. Richard wordlessly slipped the mask into place. Slade's swords glinted in the reduced light.

They were here.


End file.
